With Difficult Ease
by imaginethat96
Summary: Humans were almost enslaved, so you'd think that there would be more fear, anger, and hate. That's what the Autobots expected, after all they've known war and it's consequences for millennium. There's nothing like a snow day to see the beauty after the storm. ONE-SHOT glimpse into civilian life after Dark of the Moon. Rated K plus just in-case. A part of 'The Oxymoron Continuum


_Imaginethat96's notes:_ Title from my grandmother, so I dedicate this to all the families out there that share the love of reading. Although Gramma is amazing, unfortunately neither she nor I own Transformers. Hasbro and a bunch of other people, which I have no affiliation with, own Transformers.

_With Difficult Ease_

Snow: I have yet to get used to the atmospheric water vapour frozen into ice crystals that fall in light flakes and lie on the ground in a white layer. Back on Cybertron, the three states of dihydrogen monoxide were effortlessly created in laboratories, but never in such quantity and never from the planet's natural weather cycles. The sight of it on my ritualistic early morning drive puts me into a state of meditation. For such a flawed world, snow seems perfect. In the new residential area, it crunches and compacts under my weight, leaving an exact replica of my tire treads. Like all other Cybertronians with earthly vehicle modes, my tread design alone is far superior to this world's technology.

Their intricate patterns even more noticeable since there are no others on the road. A _snow day_ was declared for the human young, releasing them from mandatory process of receiving systematic instruction. I expected the children to remain sleeping as they usually did on _weekends_, suiting me well as I enjoyed this time of processor clearing. Entranced by the white wonder, I failed to remember that humans' are utterly random.

I had finally found trees less alien when in California and Diego Garcia, but the Washington winter transformed Earth.

From underneath a Salix babylonica, a projectile hit my driver's-side door. Nowhere near hard enough to cause any damage, but obviously not drifting snow. Behind a drooping branch of the seemingly crystallized _willow,_ there was movement. It was human movement, no doubt, and the projectile a primitive compacted ball of snow. My heat sensors showed two juvenile shapes. They threw a snowball at me. Strangely, I am not surprised. My florescent green ambulance alt-mode has made me recognizable. I struggled to read their faces covered with thick layers of cloth, but I could guess what emotions they portrayed.

Washington had been destroyed. Humans who had not perished were forced to leave their homes. Although Cybertronians do not have this problem, I can understand how the humans could get Autobots and Decepticons confused. In _lay mans terms_ -as the humans put it- the Decepticons are generally larger, more heavily armed and darker in colour than we Autobots. However, since human observation skills are poor and in truth, both Decepticons and we are towering metal titans to them. Titans that destroy, whether it is intentional or not. Understandably, the juveniles would have resentment towards me. Even if they had gotten their Cybertronian factions correct an even after they saw what happened when we left, I know what humans have say of us.

There is no point staying here, Optimus' arm is still fragging since Primus knows he will not take a cycle off! I will have to recalibrate it _again_. However, before I can move, it stopped me; This small, _puffy_, overly-clothed being stood in front of me, nose to hood. The wafting hormones identify the child as male, but with all his layers, there could have been a sparkling bundled up. He craned his neck, trying to look in my windshield. I wonder what he saw. What had his parental units told him? What had he seen? Wait…what is he doing? Waving: he is shaking his hand enthusiastically.

He spoke, "Mister Ratchet?" The muffling scarf did not mute his curiosity. I am confused to say the least. The only human toddler I have known is Annabelle and she has spent the majority of her young life on NEST facilities. Ironhide may have been her guardian, but _all _Autobots that met her could not help but love her like their own sparkling. I am no different, but –as the humans would say- _that's the thing_, I consider her as a sparkling.

Bending down, he gathered a messy ball of snow and threw it weakly at me. His playful giggling was cut short as another snowball hit him in the back of the head. A quick scan showed that he was unharmed, but the silence that had descended made me fear that the boy would _cry_, a sound that as a healer, broke my spark. Again, I am reminded that humans' are utterly random as he laughed even more joyously.

More kids waddle out of their houses, without an inch of flesh showing. Some parents leant against doors, sipping hot beverages silently while others smiled and waved at neighbours, some even at me before returning into their homes.

Crudely but quickly, three white forts arose and projectiles flew. I wondered why everything must come down to war. I realized it did _not_ when the puffy boy wordlessly made me his partner, his friend in play.

As the Chief Medical Officer for all Autobots, I admit that I played with a group of children in the snow. Before we came to Earth, I would have assessed a mech insane if he tried to tell me I would willingly let myself be hit with dihydrogen monoxide for enjoyment. It is amazing how children see the light through the darkness and then become the light themselves.

My memories of sparklings are the same.

The truth is that The Cube is gone and we cannot return life to our planet, but the children remind us… _me_ that life is greatest gift of all. The lesson appears repeatedly, yet I only now _believe_ that life is always transformed, and so it will always survive.


End file.
